


Misreading the Situation

by paintpaw



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Autistic Character, First Kiss, M/M, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 18:43:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20493476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintpaw/pseuds/paintpaw
Summary: Never has misreading the situation ended for favourably for Heavy.A first kiss fic! What if we accidentally kissed in the middle of surgery 😳 and we were both boysalso Heavy is autistic like he is in all my fics





	Misreading the Situation

Laughter is not an uncommon thing to hear coming from the Medic’s infirmary. Its sound married only to Heavy’s own laughter was becoming increasingly less so.  
  
They had spent a lot of time together. More recently it was rare to see them apart. Most of the team were certain that the pair went to the bathroom together, unwilling to part from their conversations for even the briefest of moments.   
  
It was a mutual fascination that had crept up on them. One that took them by surprise.  
  
But not romantic. Not yet.  
  
Coming down from his laughter induced high, Medic settled into a comfortable position--propping his elbows onto Heavy’s chest. Or at least, the parts of his chest that he could still lean on.   
  
Despite what others may say, Heavy found surgery with Medic quite relaxing. The mood was easy, casual. Very much unlike how actual surgery should work. But Heavy enjoyed it. If he could laugh so hard his overexcited hands sent surgical tools clattering to the floor and Medic didn’t complain– then a few birds in his chest cavity were no problem to him.  
  
Above all, he enjoyed the closeness. The way the doctor would lean on him, with an arm curled over his chest or shoulder. It made his cheeks burn red, a colour lost in a room of blood.  
  
Heavy was reclined when Medic hovered over him again, the Russian recovering from another bout of laughter. The story of Medic’s liver thievery got him every time. 

For the briefest moment, Medic's eyes drifted to somewhere beyond Heavy--or maybe just into space itself--his smile still lingering. 

A man had to wonder where that strange doctor’s mind wandered to in times like this. Misha could only guess what such a brilliant man could think about in a split-second. Just how fast did his mind travel. 

Medic slid off of the stool, his heavy boots hitting the tile floor and waking the Russian from his daydream.

One of the doctor’s hands, still warm with the Russian’s blood, gently squeezed his shoulder. It was a firm gesture. A communication that Misha felt he couldn’t quite place. He tilted his head up, trying to get a look at Medic’s face, only to find it coming awfully close to his own.

Heavy seized up. 

Medic had lowered himself with the aid of the hand firmly planted on Heavy’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure where the doctor’s other hand was. He couldn’t feel it. Most likely, it was on the cold metal gurney the Russian was laying on.

And it was happening quickly.

Heavy didn’t have time to think. No time to wonder what the man was thinking. Unwilling to just wait and see. A small yearning to just cut to the chase. To seize his fate.

In that fleeting moment, Heavy surged forwards. The motion wasn’t particularly fluid or confident. It was halting and more gentle than most would expect from such a large man. Their lips bumped together clumsily, but neither of them moved to readjust.

For that moment, their two bodies stilled. Two breaths held in their throats. Two hearts rapidly pumping blood. Two seconds of silence. 

It had been a long time since either of them had felt warm lips against their own. They were old, war-weary men. A pair long since expected to settle down with wives. At this age, they should be surrounded by children and working towards retirement. 

But not for men like them. Not for men with war etched into their very souls.

Heavy moved away. His judge of how long these things were meant to last hindered, but he decided better to cut it too short. Something he was glad of once he caught sight of the doctor’s expression.

Medic’s sky blue eyes were blown wide, staring blankly. His sharp eyebrows had shot straight up.

They both jumped at the sound of metal clattering onto the tile. Medic was quick to realise that it was the forceps he had been reaching for, slipping between his fingers and the metal table he had taken them from just before Heavy kissed him. 

The doctor straightened abruptly, his mind still processing what had happened. 

Heavy’s face flushed red as beets. Between the forceps the doctor had dropped, and the way he had just recoiled--the Russian put together what an error in judgement he had made. He lifted one giant hand up to touch his burning cheek. There was no way to escape, not without Medic letting him. The gaping hole in his chest cavity made sure of that. He could only wish for the ground to swallow him up whole.

Turning his head into his head in a meek attempt to hide, Heavy started several sentences before settling on two: “I am so sorry. I did not think.” His hand balled to a fist. He struck his own skull twice, “Heavy is stupid _ stupid _ man. Should _ never _have even thought to do this.”

And then Medic’s brain switched on.

“Oh no no no, don’t say such horrible things about yourself!” The doctor’s motions were in a flurried panic, grabbing Heavy’s hand and wrapping bloodied fingers around it. It would always be a marvel how two of his own hands were needed to wrap around one of Heavy’s--but now was not the time. 

Again he leant awkwardly over the Russian, but this time intentionally. He rubbed his two thumbs over the man’s fingers until his hand relaxed. When he was sure Heavy wouldn’t try to harm himself again, he reached out with tentative fingers to gently rub the area. It was nothing too bad. Nothing that would bruise. The redness it had conjured blending in with the smear of blood Medic had left behind.

Without hesitation, Medic levered himself once again. He lowered himself to plant a small kiss on the Russian’s head. Then he backed up to peer down at his face like he was conducting an experiment.

Heavy blinked once, twice.

Medic blinked back, his eyes sparkling with barely contained excitement.

Neither of them had the apparent charisma to say something witty or charming. Instead, Medic’s enthusiasm broke into a grin. After squeezing his fingers under the collar of Heavy’s flak jacket, he gave the man a shake--as if that would transfer his thoughts onto the Russian.

“Was that what I thought it was?” Laughter spilt from his lips as he opened them, he almost struggled to get the words out.

Heavy blinked again at the frankly confusing question. 

Medic only laughed in return. 

“You kissed me!”

“Yes.”

“And I kissed you!”

“Y-Yes.”

“So--” The doctor practically vibrated on the spot, “Was it romantic? Do you like me like that? Or was it just a friendly Russian hello?” He tittered, “I’ve seen your politicians on the television.”

Heavy’s cheeks flushed even pinker, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. In fact, he if looked down he’d see it too. He managed an awkward laugh before answering, “I like you. Heavy--thinks he loves you.”

“Ohhohohoh,” Medic looked as though he’d discovered the meaning of life, before a coy smile spread across his face as his voice dropped from its normal octave into something the doctor thought was alluring. “Why don’t we discuss it over dinner?” 

Heavy could only smile as he nodded hastily.  
  
In hindsight, this was probably what most of Medic’s split-second decisions felt like.

**Author's Note:**

> Some parts of this fic were lifted from a kissing prompt on my tumblr rp blog so to the 5 of you who read that bit and thought it sounded familiar that's where it's from


End file.
